by Devin Hanson
It was a little strange that the ainlif had reacted so strongly to damage to the exterior of the habitat, though. Cynthia Everard probably had very few enemies, if any at all. Who would want to disrupt a primary source of variety in their diets?
“Thanks, Tabitha.”
“You’re welcome, Dennison. Would you like me to prepare a meal for you? There is time before your first scheduled meeting.”
“Sure. Something light. I may have to move quickly today.”
“I have just the thing.”
Tabitha’s face faded from the screen and Dennison heard the autochef deploy in the next room. Dennison checked the time and looked at the itinerary for the day one more time. Tabitha was right. He had an hour before his mother’s shuttle was scheduled to leave.
He stripped naked and ducked into the shower, his thoughts still occupied by the events on New Galway. His own mother, Alana Romaine, had been six years into a degree in robotics on Earth when she had skipped class to take the Matriarch test. She hadn’t finished her master’s degree before the Exodus, but she had had nearly three hundred years afterward to study. By any Earth standard, she would have collected over a dozen doctorates, and her innovations and inventions had spread to every corner of human civilization.
Alana’s prominence in machine automations had made the Romaine family exceedingly wealthy. The triple-hab of Cross Station had been made to order. The six Romaine women and their sons, along with a resident crew of over six thousand, ran the development labs and manufacturing printers that supplied most of Venus with automated machinery.
The smell of frying fish drifted in the shower stall and Dennison cut his shower short with an exasperated sigh. Tabitha was a newer model of AI that was still in the testing phase. There had been a lot of improvement in the language recognition module, but apparently the nuances of food-related colloquialisms needed more work.
He dried himself and got dressed quickly. He had hoped for something simple like some sliced fruit or a hot cereal. Not, he discovered when he finally stepped into the next room, fish tacos.
The machine arm of the autochef swung out and squeezed a lime over the tacos before folding back into the recess. Despite his misgivings, Dennison’s stomach growled.
“Fish tacos?” he asked.
“According to my records of your metabolic rates, white meat and an acidic garnish suited your profile.”
He raised an eyebrow and picked up one of the tacos. The shell had been air-fried, and was crispy and light without being saturated by oil. The tilapia was lightly browned and flaky, with a garnish of finely chopped lettuce, cabbage and radishes. He bit into it and was surprised at how good it tasted. The lime went well with the fish, and the crunchy juiciness of the vegetables kept it from sitting heavily in his stomach.
The portions Tabitha had prepared were larger than he would have made on his own, but to his surprise he finished off the last taco feeling perfectly satisfied. Not full, but with enough in his stomach that he wouldn’t be getting hungry soon.
“I hope your breakfast was satisfactory,” Tabitha said cheerily.
“Tacos aren’t a breakfast food,” Dennison replied, “but I’ve no complaints.”
“Would you like me to prepare food for you on a more autonomous basis in the future?”
Dennison stopped his automatic reply halfway through. This must be some new feature the AI team was working on. Warily, he asked, “Can I opt out later?”
“Of course. All beta procedures can be accessed from my terminal and canceled at any time.”
“All right. Yes. Keep surprising me.”
“I’ll do my best, Dennison. You should know, your next appointment is in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks. Message Addison, inform him I am on my way.”
“Message sent. Have a safe day!”
The Challenge! There was no day more important in the life of a matriarch. Female children were rare among the families. The yearly day of testing did not always take place, and when it did, it always turned into a celebration. Every matriarch that was able usually made a point of congratulating the new immortals.
This year, there were to be three challengers: Leila Everard, Samantha Delacroix, and Julie Rey. Three was a large group, and it was welcome after four years with no young women of age.
Tabitha’s bid for safety echoed the sentiment among Dennison and his fellow ainlif. Any time Alana left the security of Cross Station, Dennison couldn’t help but feel nervous. The engineering and redundant security features of the habitats guaranteed the safety of those living within. But Venus was a harsh world, with only the thin façade of the habitats protecting the population from inevitable death. Once you left the safety of the habitats, life hung by a much narrower margin.
There was no good way to travel quickly over large distances. For local travel under a few dozen kilometers, and flying about the habitats, skimmers were a viable option. They were battery-powered and used relatively small amounts of energy to remain airborne.
Helicopters, prop-driven airplanes, jets, and any engine that relied on combustion to function simply did not work on Venus. Not only was hydrocarbon fuel hard to come by, the atmosphere was completely devoid of free oxygen. Carbon dioxide composed ninety-six percent of the atmosphere, and carbon dioxide does not burn. It was possible to build a craft that contained its own oxygen supply and manufacture the fuel for it but flying such a vehicle was prohibitively expensive.
Dirigibles were the preferred method for traveling long distances. Using the same vacuum-celled aerogel as the habitats, a dirigible covered in solar panels to provide power could travel at speeds up to two hundred kilometers an hour and carry several tons of equipment and personnel.
Nova Aeria was six hundred kilometers away from Cross Station, but tail winds would cut the journey down to just over two hours. The return trip would take twice as long, assuming the winds didn’t change.
Dennison made it to the dirigible gantry as the inspection was being completed, still several minutes before Alana was due.
Addison met him at the doorway. Like all of Alana’s sons, he was tall and spare, with an olive complexion and dark hair. Whatever Y chromosome Alana had selected for her children hadn’t done anything to her rather prominent hook nose, and that feature was a mainstay among all the Romaines.
“Right on time,” Addison greeted him with a tight smile and a wave. “I just finished the launch checklist. We’ve the oxygen on board for a platoon.” He handed a tablet over to Dennison and beckoned him through the hatch.
“I trust your work,” Dennison said, but he accepted the tablet and scrolled through the checklist. Addison was right. They were heavily stocked, not just with oxygen, but with food, liquid nitrogen, and other necessaries. There were enough supplies onboard the dirigible to last the crew for a month. “Are you expecting an emergency?”
Addison shrugged. “You hear about the maneuver over on New Galway?”
“The ainlif on duty spotted some hull damage and overreacted.”
“Did he though?” Addison paused in a doorway and looked back at Dennison. “I’ve been following the news from New London and Nueva Angela. The commons are angry about their living conditions.”
“Yeah, I heard that too, but none of them have the resources to assault a remote habitat. And who would want to blow up New Galway? It’s just a farm.”
“A farm with a displacement of over fifty tons,” Addison pointed out. “You could house two thousand people there, instead of the two hundred current residents.”
“Two thousand people that would quickly starve,” Dennison grumbled.
“Hey, these are the commons we’re talking about. Since when has logic ever dictated their actions? All they have to do is cut back on breeding for a few decades and their housing situation would sort itself out. We’ll be prepared against any eventuality. I’m even bringing a portable server stack with Tabitha installed. Did you have a chance to meet her yet?”
“Yeah, she made me breakfast. Fish tacos, if you believe that.” Dennison leaned against the wall while Addison punched a code into the security bunker. Addison made it sound simple, but Dennison doubted such a straight-forward solution would be accepted. He was a student of history more than Addison was, and he thought he had a better grasp on how the commons thought.
If history’s lessons were to be believed, whenever people were in a situation of hardship, they always had more children. It wasn’t particularly logical, but it was a life-affirming biological response that was inevitable. In the past, on Earth, when people expanded their population beyond what their resources could support, war was the inevitable consequence.
It was an unsettling thought. There was no territory that could simply be conquered on Venus. Every square food of living space had to be constructed at enormous expense.
Addison’s overstocking was starting to make more sense.
The door buzzed and swung open and Dennison followed Addison inside. The cramped room had a plethora of monitors showing status readouts and security camera feeds throughout the dirigible. On the primary rank of monitors, where an external feed showing the gantry and habitat airlock, a gathering of people was visible.
“Looks like mother is right on time,” Addison said.
“I’ll go and greet them,” Dennison volunteered.
Addison nodded absently. “I’ll stay here and monitor the dirigible. Stay on the comms.”
“Roger that.”
Dennison hurried back the way he had come, until he reached the dirigible’s airlock. Hurriedly, he strapped on one of the belt pack rebreathers. The belt carried a canister with enough bottled air to last for half an hour or so, with a facemask at the end of an accordioned tube. It wouldn’t protect against precipitation, but in the case of a hull breach, he could survive until repairs were made.
Safety equipment in place, he cycled the airlock and exited onto the gantry. He was still crossing the gantry when the habitat-side airlock started flashing the warning light. Dennison slowed to a walk and reached the door a moment before it slid open.
“Dennison,” Alana greeted him with a smile.
“Hello, Mother.” His eyes flicked to her waist, conspicuously devoid of a rebreather. He looked up and locked eyes with his brother standing behind her, mute accusation in his gaze.
Bryson shrugged. He had a spare rebreather hanging in one hand and a long-suffering expression on his face.
“I’m perfectly safe in the gantry,” Alana said, rolling her eyes.
“Mother, that’s not the–”
“If,” she said firmly, overriding Dennison’s protest, “something does happen, I have two capable sons with me who can keep me safe.” She moved to brush by Dennison and drew up short when he held up a hand to stop her.
“Normally,” Dennison said doggedly, ignoring the growing anger behind Alana’s eyes, “I would acquiesce and accept the risk. Not today. You will wear the rebreather, or we’re staying in Cross Station.”
“Addison–”
“Addison would back me up on this one. Bryson has your belt pack. Please put it on.”
“It’s the one with the refitted belt,” Bryson said with forced cheer. “You won’t even know it’s there.”
Glaring at her sons, Alana snatched the rebreather from Bryson and swung the belt around her waist. “There. Can we go now?”
Dennison stepped aside and matched his mother’s glare with a smile of his own. “Thank you. The dirigible has been prepped and is ready to go.”
Alana shifted the weight of the belt pack to a more comfortable position on her hip and strode down the gantry, her eyes stony.
With a shared look with Bryson, Dennison hurried to catch up. He touched his collar and fingered the mic stud. “We’re on our way in.”
“This is a celebration,” Alana said irritably, “not a military operation. I’ve been to Nova Aeria thousands of times. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Of course, Mother.” Dennison didn’t bother arguing. She knew as well as he did that it was perfectly safe because of the constant efforts of her sons to make it that way. Carlson and Edison were already at Nova Aeria, having spent the last week verifying the habitat was safe. Ferguson was piloting the dirigible and Garrison was standing by in the skimmer bay, ready to start the crafts up should something go wrong with the dirigible. The other five of the ainlif would be staying behind in Cross Station, seeing to the daily affairs of the family business and making sure they all had a home to return to.
It might not be a military operation, but for the ainlif it was business as usual. Alana never did anything without her sons vetting it beforehand and guaranteeing her safety. She wasn’t always directly aware of it, and the business with the rebreather would have been passed off with good cheer under normal circumstances.
Alana had lived comfortably for over three hundred and fifty years, and Dennison was determined for her to live that way another forty thousand. If she had to endure the discomfort of a rebreather pack every now and then, it was a price he was willing to make her pay.
They passed through the airlock into the dirigible, and Dennison led the way forward to the salon. The floor-to-ceiling windows swept around in a broad horseshoe, giving an unobstructed view of the majesty of the clouds and sky.
Dennison pulled back with Bryson, and they took up stations by the entryway. Alana and a dozen of her workers made themselves comfortable in the lounge and picked up a conversation, leaning over their tablets and swapping technical jargon back and forth.
The subtle vibration in the floor picked up in frequency and Dennison’s earbud clicked to life. Ferguson’s voice came through as he negotiated with the habitat, finalizing their departure. The gantry unlatched from the side of the dirigible, and the vibration jumped up another notch.
With the thrum of the engines a subtle vibration beneath their feet, the dirigible eased away from the habitat. Conversation in the lounge paused as everyone looked out the windows, watching as the habitat slid away. Even among the immortals who had taken dirigible rides many times, it was still a little bit nerve-wracking, watching the habitat draw away to the stern.
It was easy to forget that they lived in floating habitats, adrift in the endless skies of Venus. The routine of their daily lives didn’t directly involve them in the engineering and maintenance that kept the habitat aloft, and it was easy to put the danger from their minds. Watching all that security disappear behind them drove home how fragile their existences really were and reminded them that the dirigible offered temporary life support at best.
The lounge was silent until the habitat had passed out of view behind them. Once they were adrift in the clouds with no manmade structures in sight, a collective sigh ran through the room. Postures unlocked, soft music was pumped through the overhead speakers, and the passengers traded forced smiles with each other before picking their conversations back up.
Alana stood up from a cluster of systems developers and made her way aft to where Dennison stood on watch with Bryson. She waved a hand when she grew close, dismissing their formal greeting before it could get started.
“It is difficult,” she said quietly, “always being on guard. Always thinking ahead and watching over me.”
Dennison met Alana’s eyes and avoided glancing sideways at Bryson. “It is our duty, Mother. It is not difficult.”
“How old are you, Dennison?”
“You know perfectly well how old I am.” Dennison’s lips twitched in a grin.
“Indulge me.”
“One hundred and twelve years old. Eight months and,” Dennison squinted, counting in his head. “Sixteen days.”
Alana nodded. “You started receiving your treatments at twenty years of age. Do you have any regrets about that? Tying your life to mine?”
“Why would I have?” Dennison asked, surprised. This conversation wasn’t going where he had expected it to.
“Not all families have such strict discipline,”
Alana shrugged. “I’m curious to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
“We follow the Everard model,” Bryson said, joining the conversation. “The First Matriarch developed the culture of respect and protection among her sons, and none of her daughters have seen fit to deviate from that.”
“And who are we to doubt the methods of the Everards?” Dennison asked with a shrug of his own. “It is hard to argue with logic and evidence.”
“We want nothing more than for you to live out your life to its fullest capacity, Mother,” Bryson said earnestly.
“It is not without benefit for you,” Alana smiled. “Keep me alive, and your own life can extend indefinitely as well.”
“You know that’s not how we feel,” Dennison protested. “We both took lifetime vows to protect you long before we started the Rebuild.”
“Surely there is a selfish benefit as well?” Alana asked. “You spend one watch out of three guarding me, but there are still eight hours during which you pursue your own interests.”
Dennison shrugged uncomfortably. Alana wasn’t wrong, but she was making it sound almost mercenary. “Mother, is this about the rebreather?”
Alana raised an eyebrow. “Am I so obvious?”
“Well, I won’t apologize for it, if that’s what you’re looking for. Wearing a rebreather is standard safety procedures while outside a habitat.”
“You misunderstand,” Alana shook her head. “I’m not chastising you. I came over to thank you. I make no claim to be the best mother in the solar system, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the daily sacrifices you make, and your unending vigilance.” She smiled. “I couldn’t ask for better sons.”
“Oh.” Dennison glanced at Bryson. “Well, thank you. For being appreciative. I wouldn’t want to be ainlif to any other matriarch.”
Bryson nodded his agreement. “We wouldn’t have you cloister yourself either, Mother. We understand the necessity to experience life. But there are times when it is okay to be free of care, and times when caution is wise.”
